The Undivided

by Jennifer Fallon; Jennifer Fallon

  Darragh turned to the warrior curiously. ‘Who did you have in mind?’

  ‘Sorcha.’

  His brother didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at Ren, squinting a little in the setting sun behind him, and then turned his attention back to the warrior. ‘Would she come?’

  ‘For this she might. She has no love for the Tuatha Dé Danann.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware she had any great love for her own kind, either,’ Darragh said, frowning.

  ‘Who’s Sorcha?’ Ren asked.

  ‘The oldest Druid warrior alive,’ Ciarán said. ‘In this realm or any other.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Ren said, wondering exactly how much help one little old lady Druid would be against apparently evil Faeries bent on killing him.

  ‘It does sound like a good plan, doesn’t it?’ Darragh agreed, not getting Ren’s ironic tone or else deliberately ignoring it. ‘Having my brother finally take his place at the head table a month from now, with Sorcha by his side, will give even Marcroy Tarth pause.’

  ‘A month from now?’ Ren asked, a little alarmed at the speed with which his life was being taken over. ‘What’s happening a month from now?’

  ‘Lughnasadh,’ Brógán explained, as he returned to his spit-roasting lamb. ‘The autumn equinox.’ He turned to Darragh. ‘Are you wishing, Leath tiarna, or have you had a vision of Sorcha helping us?’

  ‘Wishing, I fear,’ Darragh said with a shrug. ‘But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.’

  ‘You have visions?’ Rónán asked.

  ‘Your brother’s gifts include the Sight,’ Ciarán explained.

  Rónán looked at Darragh warily. ‘You see the future?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Darragh. ‘The future is not so fixed it can be predicted with any great accuracy. I dream dreams of possible futures.’

  ‘You can’t seriously mean to do this.’

  ‘It has to be done. You know that.’

  ‘They are innocent.’

  ‘They are our death.’

  Ren shook his head to drive away the lingering memory of the dream that had haunted him for much of his life. Was it a dream? Or had he, like his brother, been dreaming of a possible future?

  ‘Rónán?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Are you unwell? You’ve gone quite pale.’

  Ren nodded. He wondered if he really had paled, or if Darragh was simply sensing his unease. A part of him wanted to get Darragh alone for an hour or two and demand some real answers. Another part of him didn’t want to know. Would I rather discover my nightmare was just the result of watching too many horror movies, or discover I can see the future and know that one day my own brother is going to have to threaten to kill me, to prevent me murdering a couple of babies?

  Ren couldn’t decide.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Darragh knew he was lying, too. Ren could feel his scepticism.

  He didn’t make an issue of it, though. Instead, Darragh turned to Ciarán. ‘Do you know where to find Sorcha?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’d ask her myself, but we have visitors in Sí an Bhrú tonight,’ Darragh added. ‘And if I’m to maintain the fiction I’m currently entertaining Lady Brydie in my chamber, I need to get back before she decides to change sides. Again.’

  Ren stared at Darragh for a moment, almost afraid to ask for an explanation of that particular statement.

  ‘Rónán can stay here with me until Ciarán gets back with Sorcha,’ Brógán offered. ‘And then we can move him somewhere a little more comfortable until it’s time to present him at Sí an Bhrú. Nobody knows he’s back. He’ll be safe enough.’

  ‘It’s going to be a full moon,’ Ciarán pointed out.

  Ren wasn’t sure why that was important, but it seemed to bother the warrior. He was a little concerned, thinking anything that bothered Ciarán was probably something to be bothered about.

  Brógán shrugged. ‘I can handle a few weremen. Assuming they’re about.’

  Darragh turned to Ren. ‘Is that all right with you, Rónán?’

  Ren shrugged. ‘I guess. What’s a wereman?’

  Darragh glanced at Ciarán briefly. ‘Nothing you need to worry about, brother. Brógán is right. He can probably handle any danger you might encounter.’

  ‘So they’re dangerous?’

  Darragh didn’t answer, stooping to collect his robe from the damp grass. The temperature was dropping and the air was already thick with moisture.

  As Darragh tied his robe, Ren turned to Brógán, wondering if he could get a bit more information from the young Druid once the others had departed. ‘Does that mean we can eat?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Unconsciously, Ren rubbed at the triskalion tattoo on his palm. The one that matched Darragh’s tattoo. When he looked up, he saw Darragh mirroring Ren’s gesture without even noticing.

  Creepy, Ren thought, wondering what else he shared with his twin besides the same genes, a tattoo, and an impressive array of scars.

  And dreams of a possible future where he was a killer.

  It was dark by the time his brother left. Darragh hugged Ren briefly, before he headed off with Ciarán, promising to return as soon as possible. The warrior offered no signs of affection, just a curt nod, a warning to Brógán to remain vigilant, and then he and Darragh turned and headed back through the darkness toward the village and the standing stones — Darragh to see to the Lady Brydie and Ciarán to bring back Ren’s bodyguard, Sorcha.

  And what of the life I’ve come from, Ren wondered as he watched them walk away? What of his own realm … his own reality … or whatever the hell they were calling these different worlds? Is this a one-way trip? Am I stuck here forever, while my life at home chugs along merrily without me? Am I still wanted for attempted murder back in my own reality?

  What a choice. A lengthy trial and a good chance of spending the prime years of his life behind bars for a crime he knew nothing about, or stay where he was, and confront the possibility that his frightening dream wasn’t a dream but an event yet to happen.

  The thought made Ren ill.

  And then he thought of Kiva. What of his mother? The Boyles?

  What of Hayley?

  Ren’s heart constricted as he thought of his cousin Hayley. Would she wake to learn he’d disappeared? Would she spend the rest of her life wondering what happened to him? Would she even wake from her coma, and if she did, was her brain damage permanent?

  Ren needed time alone. Time to work out what went wrong with Trása’s grand plan to take vengeance on Murray Symes. Time to work out what had happened to Jack’s apparently imaginary granddaughter. Time to figure out why the cops insisted he had been alone at the warehouse. Time to wonder if Kiva was worried sick that he’d disappeared, or just chalking up his absence to more attention-seeking behaviour.

  He needed time to consider something else, too.

  Is the dream going to happen if I stay here?

  Or if I go?

  CHAPTER 32

  ‘How did you find me?’

  Brógán looked at Ren sitting by the fire trying to soak up some warmth. It was getting chilly, for all that it was still summer. For the last little while, Ren had watched the Druid pace out a circle around the hut and their campfire, marking it with a white powder he apparently kept in his pocket for occasions such as this.

  ‘We searched your realm for the better part of a year,’ Brógán told him, as he continued to scatter the powder. ‘Niamh found you about three months ago.’

  ‘You’ve been stalking me for three months? That’s creepy.’

  ‘It was … educational.’ Brógán brushed the powder from his hands. He examined his handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. ‘That should do it.’

  ‘What should do it?’

  Brógán pointed to the faint white circle. ‘I’ve marked out a perimeter. If there are any weremen about, it should keep them at bay.’

  ‘What is it? Salt?’

  �
�Good lord, no!’ Brógán laughed. ‘The last thing those creatures need is a salt lick. We’d never get rid of them if we laid out salt.’

  ‘How silly of me,’ Ren said, still unsure what the threat was, although he was wondering how bad the threat could be if some white powder was enough to scare them off. He glanced up at the sky, but the night was cloudy and there was no sign, yet, of the moon.

  Brógán smiled. ‘It’s aconite powder.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ren said. ‘What else would it be?’

  ‘Wolfsbane,’ the Druid added, by way of explanation. ‘The weremen hate it.’

  ‘Good to know. What is a wereman, exactly? Are you talking werewolves?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Brógán turned to check the roast before he answered. ‘They’re Faerie.’

  ‘Faerie werewolves, huh?’

  The Druid looked up at Ren, frowning. ‘The Daoine sídhe in this realm are nothing like the Faerie you think you know, Rónán.’ As if to emphasise his words, Brógán produced a savage looking dagger from under his robe. He waved it at Ren. ‘You’d do well to listen and learn, Leath tiarna.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Ren agreed hurriedly, the blade glinting dangerously as it caught the firelight. ‘Listening and learning from now on. Count on it.’

  Brógán turned his attention to their meal and to Ren’s relief began to carve slices of roast meat from the spit, dropping them on a wooden platter from the hut. After a few moments, Brógán offered Ren the platter and then took a piece of meat with his fingers. Ren followed suit, guessing knives and forks weren’t a priority in this world.

  Ren sat on the ground. ‘So how come you didn’t just come up to me on the street and ask me to go with you three months ago?’ he asked, figuring it was a safer subject than Faeries. ‘Would’ve been a lot less trouble than a gaol break.’

  ‘Would you have come without protest if two strangers had accosted you on the street and asked you to get in their car?’ the Druid asked. ‘Would you be sitting here, sharing a meal, discussing the situation with me so calmly, if we’d taken you by force?’

  Ren shrugged. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Brógán added with a thin smile, ‘neither Niamh or I can drive a car.’

  Ren smiled too, because seeing Brógán dressed like a Jedi, he couldn’t imagine him behind the wheel of a car stuck in Dublin’s peak-hour traffic. ‘I guess that explains a few things, although not why you busted me out of goal.’

  ‘Niamh decided we couldn’t wait any longer to retrieve you,’ Brógán said, through a mouthful of meat. ‘Once you did something that caused your face to be broadcast across the world, the chances of the Tuatha finding you before we could bring you home became a real danger.’

  ‘You broke me outta gaol to save me from the Faeries, huh?’ Ren said, eyeing Brógán warily. ‘That doesn’t sound in the least bit crazy.’

  Brógán was no longer smiling. ‘You may poke fun at us, Leath tiarna, but the danger is real, and you mock it at your peril. Had the Daoine sídhe decided to take you, you would have been powerless to resist them. Just be thankful that in the realm we rescued you from there is so little magic left, no true Tuatha can survive there.’

  ‘If they can’t survive in my reality, what were you worried about?’

  ‘There are mongrels aplenty who can cross between the worlds.’ Brógán’s tone was cold; filled with bitterness and contempt.

  ‘So … these mongrel Daoine sídhe …’ he asked warily, not sure what reaction his question would provoke. ‘They can teleport across realities too?’

  Brógán nodded. ‘The half-breeds can. Some of them. But crossing the rift between realms is not a teleport in the sense you mean.’

  A blood-chilling howl suddenly split the air. Ren jumped.

  Brógán carried on as if he hadn’t heard a thing. ‘Teleports such as those we saw on television in your reality are purely mechanical. Such a machine would be massive and would require the power of a small sun to make it operational.’

  ‘Then how do yours work?’ Ren asked, glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure which direction the howling had come from. The first call had been answered by a second, just as chilling, which seemed to come from the opposite direction.

  ‘Magic.’

  Another howl rent the night.

  ‘Should we be worried about that?’ Ren asked. The howls seemed to be getting closer.

  ‘The aconite will keep them at bay. Did you want some more meat?’

  ‘No … I’m good …’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, Rónán,’ Brógán assured him, reaching forward calmly to carve himself another slice off the spit. ‘Did you want me to explain about the rift?’

  He’s trying to change the subject. Distract me. While the hounds of hell are descending upon us.

  Okay … I’ll play along … ‘Can you jump through time, too?’

  ‘Of course not. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Here, maybe everyone knows it,’ Ren agreed, scrambling to his feet at the sound of something moving in the dark. ‘In the reality I come from …’ he added, peering into the darkness, ‘we’re still pretty much content with the whole idea of not being able to travel between dimensions at all.’ Despite a lighter patch of sky behind the clouds indicating the hidden full moon, it was too dark beyond the circle of firelight to see much of anything.

  ‘It’s not possible to travel through time …’ Brógán explained patiently. He seemed oblivious to the shadows Ren could sense creeping closer and closer to the faint perimeter. ‘Otherwise you run the risk of running into yourself, and that’s a paradox Danú just won’t allow.’

  Ren jumped at another howl that seemed to come from just over his shoulder.

  ‘But you can run into yourself in another reality, can’t you?’ he said, trying to sound as if he wasn’t freaked by the nearness of the unseen weremen. ‘Are those things going to kill us?’

  Brógán looked around for a moment and then shrugged. ‘While they’re howling like that, they’re nothing to worry about.’ He glanced up at the overcast sky and shrugged. ‘We’ll be perfectly safe, provided the rain holds off. We call them eileféin, by the way.’

  ‘Cellophane?’ Ren asked, wondering if he’d misheard the Druid.

  ‘Ella-phane,’ Brógán corrected.

  ‘Okay … what are these eileféin?’

  ‘The alternate-reality version of oneself,’ Brógán explained. ‘We have very strict laws in this realm about bringing eileféin through the rift.’

  ‘Good to know. If they’re not actually werewolves, exactly what are they?’ Ren asked, turning a slow circle to see if he could spot one. He could sense them, but still couldn’t make out much more than darting shades in the darkness, and Brógán had a valid concern about the rain. The Wolfsbane circle protecting them wouldn’t last a minute in even a light shower.

  ‘Shapeshifters, originally,’ Brógán said, with a complete lack of concern. ‘Legend has it they broke away from the Tuatha Dé Danann after falling out with Orlagh over some matter or other.’

  ‘Who’s Orlagh?’

  ‘The queen of the Tuatha.’

  ‘So … they changed their shape and then got stuck in it?’

  The howling had picked up in pitch to the point where Ren’s hair was standing on end.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Brógán said, wiping the grease from his knife on the grass. ‘They usually only take on wolven form during a full moon. The rest of the time, they’re just ordinary, everyday Faerie.’

  Ren eyed him askance. ‘Seriously? Ordinary, everyday Faeries?’

  ‘Something you’re going to have to get used to,’ Brógán reminded him calmly.

  Ren shook his head, trying to spot one of the elusive shadows. The howls were so close, Ren couldn’t believe the creatures weren’t snapping at his ankles.

  ‘Yeah … about that whole magic thing …’ How is this happening? I shouldn’t be here waiting for fairy werewolves to rip my thr
oat out. I should be home …

  No, I should be at the hospital with Hayley …

  I should be in a reality where nightmares are just dreams and not a glimpse of the future …

  ‘Magic is a natural force like any other, Leath tiarna,’ Brógán explained patiently, mistaking Ren’s silence for interest. ‘It just requires a creature with the ability — such as yourself — and of course, in the case of the Druids, the training as well, to tap into the power of Danú to make it happen. The idea in your realm of ever being able to break people down into their component parts and reconstruct them somewhere else with a machine is really quite absurd, when you think about it.’

  ‘Unlike magically moving people around,’ Ren said distractedly. The howls were growing ever more frantic. ‘Which makes perfectly good sense?’ Ren’s head swivelled, trying to follow the sounds, hoping to see one of the creatures before they came at him, teeth and claws ready to devour him. Right now, even though he was hard-pressed to believe in it, a bit of magical intervention seemed like a splendid idea. ‘Tell me, how long does it take to learn this “tapping into the power of Danú” thing? I think magically moving us somewhere other than here seems a grand plan right about now.’

  ‘Mastery of magic is the result of years of training, Leath tiarna. However, once you and Darragh have shared the Comhroinn it should become much easier for you.’

  Ren looked up at the feel of raindrops on his face, acutely aware of Brógán’s warning about the rain washing away their protective barrier. He backed closer to the fire until his heels were almost touching the glowing coals. ‘So, there’s nothing you can teach me in the next … you know … three minutes or so, that might be useful if I was looking not to get devoured …’

  Brógán sighed heavily, holding a hand out to confirm it really was starting to rain. ‘I am Liaig. I couldn’t teach you that, even if I wanted to,’ he said. ‘My power is —’

  Without warning, the howling abruptly stopped.

  The Druid lowered his hand with a frown. For the first time since the howling started, Brógán looked worried. ‘Ah … that’s not good.’